Candy Girl
by Paeng
Summary: Kikuchii Tomoe was not ashamed to admit she was envious of people like Marui. Unlike her who used candy as means to start a conversation, all Marui had to do was show up and people would flock to him like he was the living Buddha. — MaruiOC
1. Over Green Apple-Flavored Bubblegum

**CANDY GIRL**

. . .

 **1**

. . .

Kikuchii Tomoe was Class I-C's 'Candy Girl.'

Of all possible nicknames, it perturbed her how her classmates settled with something embarrassing, particularly one that had suggestive connotations. But she could understand why they referred to her as such, because if anyone cared to look inside her school bag, she always had a stash of sweets hidden underneath her notebooks. It was a small act of rebellion on her part, to be sucking on hard candy during class hours, but it was a habit she picked up over the year.

It can all be attributed to her anxiety over entrance examinations. She distinctly remembered the halls were fraught with tension, and the sounds of pen on paper and flipped pages were the only things that permeated the quiet. The explosion of peppermint in her mouth had helped ease her nerves as she read through long passages and computed for the value of _x_. When she passed Rikkaidai, the exam she was so sure she was going to flunk out of all the high school entrance examinations she took, the aisle of sweets in the convenience store wasn't just another aisle anymore.

It was salvation.

From then on, candy had its desired calming effect. Fortunately, its usefulness in her everyday school life was not limited to its ability to alleviate her anxiety: it was the key in her attempts to connect with others.

Every morning she would make a point to greet everyone she happened to pass on the way to her seat. The habit eventually paved the way for small talk about the weather ("It's so hot today, isn't it?") and homework ("Can I take a peek at your History essay, Kikuchii?") which she had been more than happy to entertain. Her first few lunch breaks didn't turn out as arduous as she thought they would be as soon she realized she could hold small conversations. The slow but notable build-up in confidence dwindled, however, when a couple of classmates had veered harmless exchanges about schoolwork and club activities into foreign territory—pop culture. They had been chattering about Beyonce's latest music video, and Kikuchii, who initially had no reason whatsoever to check out western music, had unwittingly asked, "What's a Beyonce?"

She had been the laughing stock of the class for a week.

Smiling it off had eased the brunt of the teasing; more so when she had casually cited a couple of Beyonce's song titles, alongside an acceptable commentary for _each_ single, the next time they brought her up.

Despite her limited knowledge of pop culture, she would like to believe that she was still companionable in moments of silence, or when a classmate simply needed someone to talk to. And in instances when she had absolutely nothing to contribute to a conversation which was, sad to say, _often_ , popping candy in her mouth usually kept her from spouting any more brainless comments, "Oh, Hunger Games. Is that the new segment on the food channel?" that were hilariously offensive to her peers.

Over time, she had come to accept that she would always be the girl unwillingly pushed into the periphery—simply watching, listening, and biding her time in conversations. But if she were patient enough, and she usually was, the conversation would eventually lull into a state of awkwardness, and her golden opportunity would arise.

"Want some?" she would ask, brandishing packets of bite-sized matcha-flavored Kitkat.

It was a tedious process. Making friends, that is.

Having a university professor teaching Japanese History for a father, her childhood pretty much consisted of thick textbooks about the very foundations that brought Japan to its present greatness, as well as documentaries on prominent historical figures—like Tomoe Gozen, her famous namesake—on loop in the living room plasma. Conversations over meals were usually about the upcoming elections or a financial crisis in some distant part of the world.

Her mother, on her part, was a tad too protective and had restricted her play with neighborhood kids because of an episode of hand-foot-mouth disease when she was a toddler. She remembered watching her neighbors play hide-and-seek from her bedroom window, an ugly mixture of jealousy and resentment churning at the pit of her stomach. Her mother's refusal to get her a cellphone or a laptop until high school didn't help either.

She had honored her mother's request, because truthfully, she didn't have the guts to go against her word. Had her attempts at rebellion been discovered, she wouldn't have had the stamina to endure long-winding diatribes, and it was just so much of a _hassle._ Just like her peers, she wanted to ogle boy bands and gush over the latest superhero movies, but instead she pored over any available source of entertainment at home. There really wasn't much to begin with, except the stacks of scholarly references that was nirvana to her father's university students working on their dissertations.

Which explained _a lot_ about her utter lack of success in her pursuit to belong.

But through sheer effort and persistence, her classmates eventually warmed up to her. With her stash of candy ready, she was the perfect go-to when someone had lapses of hypoglycemia, or when a boost of glucose was necessary to sustain oneself during stressful examinations. Class I-C didn't have to worry about shelling out a portion of their allowance to get high on sugar. Need something sweet to get rid of the aftertaste of bitter gourd? Or perhaps something to satisfy your craving? For _free?_

She was your girl. Your 'Candy Girl'.

. . .

Kikuchii's mind was almost always on overdrive, as if to compensate for the rarity of words that came out of her mouth.

Every day, whether she was lying on her bed or listening to lectures, a dozen thoughts whirred inside her head. She had always been overly sensitive to surrounding stimuli, becoming privy to the strong odor of her History teacher's cologne when he walked past her seat during examinations ("He's still wooing Fujiwara-sensei," she thought), the high-pitched inflection in Amane's speech whenever she talked to her seatmate, Niou ("Amane likes him," she mused), or the way her said seatmate's gaze had distinctly narrowed at the mention of the Student Council. ("Hmm…" she paused, stumped with Niou, as always).

Although she was quiet as Amane tirelessly hopped from one topic to another, Kikuchii was ready even before her friend's chatter gradually slowed to a stop.

"Kikuchii."

She had her arsenal laid out on her desk—a box of Apollo strawberry chocolates, green apple-flavored bubblegum, and a packet of Kasugai lychee candy.

"No peach?" Amane whined, referring to the hard candy.

"Fujioka-san finished it all yesterday."

"Damn," was all Amane said, before she resumed her talk about this rising boy band 'B.A.P' and, "Oh my god, have you seen Daehyun's latest post? He is _so hot_ ," to a classmate, who was simultaneously perusing the artist's Instagram account.

After shoving her cellphone under her desk, typing _B-A-P_ into Google's search engine, and browsing through some articles, Kikuchii was able to procure bits of information that permitted participation, albeit minimal.

"So they're called 'Best Absolute Perfect'?" Kikuchii mused out loud.

"Because they're the best, absolutely talented, and perfectly handsome," Amane cooed.

She appreciated Amane's thorough explanation of the k-pop group, but as the conversation continued Kikuchii's thoughts wandered. This happened a lot in spite of her sincere attempts to connect, as she pondered over the sudden boom of the so-called 'Korean Wave' and whether it was the Republic of South Korea's attempt to get back at them for the hundreds of thousands of women that were forced to serve the Imperial Japanese Army during the colonial period. Amane would have disliked the mention of anything relating to politics, which frazzled her friend because it was too "serious" and "mature" of a topic; also, it would have given away Kikuchii's disinterest, so she simply shut her mouth and ate her candy in silence.

"Uwaaa! He sat with Sanada today. What a pity." Amane grouched.

The mention of a classmate—and the promise of a conversation she could finally relate with—piqued Kikuchii's attention. Following Amane's gaze, she became aware of the small group seated a few tables away. It was raining, so a lot of their classmates had decided to eat their lunch indoors. The majority of the freshmen didn't want to engage in a full-out brawl for food with the bigger, _scarier_ upperclassmen in the cafeteria, so she wasn't surprised to see the other members of the tennis club surrounding Sanada's table. Although the other tennis regulars were from other sections, Kikuchii had noticed that at least once a week a couple of them would drop by to eat with her tall, brooding classmate.

All thoughts about the Korean Wave and Japanese-Korean relations aside, Kikuchii watched them with mild interest. They were a popular bunch, mainly because they were associated with the highly-esteemed athletic club, the pinnacle of popularity in Rikkaidai. Had they failed to make it as tennis regulars, however, Kikuchii was certain they would still have been popular in their own right. Of particular interest was a certain red-head, who was currently talking to Amane.

Kikuchii blinked in confusion.

Looking around, she realized that the seat beside hers was now vacant. She must have been so absorbed with her thoughts that she failed to notice Amane sauntering off to the other side of the room. Watching her friend fully immersed in enthusiastic conversation with the tennis regular, Kikuchii couldn't help but feel slightly abandoned, left alone with her copy of _I Am a Cat_ propped open on her desk.

The sentence she had highlighted before Amane had opened the topic about the k-pop group popped out from the page in all its neon orange glory:

 _It is painfully easy to define human beings. They are beings who for no good reason at all, create their own unnecessary suffering,_ the narrator of the book, a cat, had said.

She shut the book with finality, and then turned her full attention towards the small crowd that had formed around the red-head, Marui. Standing at roughly five-foot-four, Marui was noticeably smaller than his peers. Even Amane was a few inches taller than the guy, but his lack of height did nothing to diminish his lively personality.

"Yeah, I didn't think he would kill him right off the bat! But it was pretty cool, huh?" Marui agreed heartily. Amane seemed to have engaged in conversation with Marui and his friends about a foreign show that was super popular, and explosive bouts of chatter and laughter had followed suit.

Kikuchii was not ashamed to admit she was envious of people like Marui.

Marui was a frequent visitor of their class because of her seatmate, Niou. Like Marui, Niou was a magnet for attention. With his bleached hair and penchant for pulling tricks on unwilling classmates, Niou had easily set himself apart from the crowd. It didn't help that he was also a member of the famous tennis club and was pleasing to the eye. Whereas Marui was nice and affable, Niou was aloof and somewhat intimidating. The guy seemed content to be left to his own devices, which Kikuchii could not imagine for herself. He had a quiet strength to him that allowed him to do as he pleased. She only had her doubts.

In any case, in the rare times Niou would be in their classroom during lunch break, Marui would always be seen sticking around her general vicinity. In the guise of reading her favorite paperback, she would listen in on their hilarious conversations, and it would almost always take all of her willpower to suppress even the softest snort. But even during the days Niou was AWOL, Marui had other friends he would choose to talk to.

And so, Kikuchii bore witness to Marui's genius.

Unlike her, who had to use candy as means to start a conversation, all Marui had to do was show up and people would flock to him like he was the living Buddha.

At first, she thought it was his eye-catching hair color, though she could list a hundred people who were popular that didn't even dye their hair. The Tennis Club was a definite boost to his popularity, but even without it he would still be popular. Was it his vast knowledge on the latest TV shows, manga updates, and songs? His looks? He was pretty average-looking beside Niou. Or perhaps it was his general _niceness_?

"Oh, you can ask Kikuchii!"

She was thrown off her train of thought. Marui was suddenly standing in front of her desk, and he was looking right at her.

"Hi, Amane said you have gum." It was posed as a statement, but the question was left hanging in the air.

"Yeah, I do," she squeaked almost a little too enthusiastically, and handed him a strip of the green apple-flavored one on her desk.

"You're a lifesaver," he gushed and she noticed how the corners of his smile were notched higher than usual. His brown eyes were bright as they were fixed on her face; she could not help but squirm at the attention.

"The store ran out this morning, and I was really bummed out. I couldn't concentrate during practice," he complained.

Wordlessly, she unhooked the flap of her school bag and rummaged for something. Marui genuinely looked surprised when she handed him two more packs of the same gum.

"You're giving this all away?" He made it sound like she committed a crime.

"I have plenty more at home," was all she said.

"If you insist." He brightened. "No takebacks, okay?" He took the packs from her hand and slipped them inside his pocket. "I suppose if you hadn't bought out the entire store, these would have been mine, anyway," he added playfully.

"In my defense, there were only three packs left." She flubbed under Marui's pseudo-accusatory glare. "You can't blame me for your lack of foresight, Marui-san."

"Oh, but I do blame you," he bemoaned. "You cost me my practice match against Niou earlier."

"But—" She stared at him, looking helpless. "What does gum have to do with you winning?"

"Only _everything_." He sighed melodramatically.

She paused, thinking. Why would Marui need gum to win? Gum was glucose, and glucose was fuel for the body. Maybe he suffered from poor stamina, and he needed gum to sustain him in a match?

"Anyway, you must have bought these from the 7-Eleven by the train station," he said offhandedly, the corners of his mouth twitching when her eyebrows shot upward in surprise. It was a lucky guess. "If ever they run out again, don't be so shocked if I come after you."

She could only manage a small guttural sound from the back her throat, something like a protest. He burst out laughing, and she couldn't help but smile at the gesture.

. . .

Kikuchii didn't know what to make of her unlikely encounters with Marui.

It was lunchtime, and the red-head's attention was zeroed in on a YouTube video he was watching alongside several other boys from her class. It was now commonplace for Marui to drop by Class I-C several times a week, if not to eat lunch with the other tennis club members or return a borrowed CD or manga, would simply bugger the hell out of Niou, who usually would disappear without a trace once the lunch bell rang.

While Amane was out buying strawberry milk for the both of them, Kikuchii had her history book propped open on her desk and was _trying_ to read through the passages that would serve as reference to their fast-approaching presentation. Her father's references at home were far more comprehensive than the passage in their textbook, so she was already well-versed on the Genpei War, but there was a particular one from the book she wanted to quote. She would have found it half an hour ago if only she could focus.

Despite her eyes on the text, her attention was elsewhere.

"Kikuchii."

The green apple-flavored bubblegum, which had been sitting daintily at the edges of her history book, disappeared from her line of vision.

"The store ran out again," Marui said, then returned the pack on her desk.

She merely nodded in acknowledgement before returning to the page she was reading, or rather, _pretending_ to read. A moment of silence passed, and looking up, she was surprised to see Marui sitting on the seat right in front of Niou's and hers. He twisted on the chair, facing her general direction while nonchalantly chewing on his gum.

She could feel the telltales of a blush coming as Marui simply looked at her, scrutinizing, like she was an ancient relic in a museum.

"Why do you let him slack off?" he asked, pertaining to Niou, her project partner, who had his head buried in arms, snoozing. "Do you want me to smack him for you?"

"No," she sputtered, alarmed, which only seemed to amuse Marui. "He made the outline for our presentation **,** so it's my turn to do the work now."

Marui shrugged and rested his chin atop the back of the chair. They lapsed into a companionable silence, with Marui staring blankly at the pages of her book and Kikuchii running a mental list of all the things she wanted to talk with him about, but _couldn't_ because she didn't trust her mouth one bit and had no intentions of embarrassing herself in front of Marui, the _king_ of pop culture, of all people.

("Hey, Marui-san," she practiced in her head. _"_ I listened to ORANGE RANGE's latest album, and I love it.")

She's been staring at the same page, the same _sentence,_ since lunch started.

(" _The Pirates of the Caribbean_ was on HBO last night, but my mom switched it to her drama even before Davy Jones got his heart back. Do you think you can lend me that movie you were talking about with Amane the other day?")

She was on a roll. In her head, anyway.

God, Marui must think she was an absolute bore, what with her nose buried in the pages of their history book and him just sitting there. When she finally decided to flip her book close, Amane had returned from buying strawberry milk and had already engaged Marui in conversation about a new app she downloaded on her iPhone.

Kikuchii tucked her history book away and passed on her notes to Niou's table, ignoring the heaviness at the pit of her stomach.

When third period was about to start, Marui slipped back to her seat to help himself to another strip of bubblegum. She looked up from her book, momentarily caught off-guard. Her mouth opened, then closed. Her thought process faltered when he good-naturedly winked, then grinned, as he happily chewed her gum. He then ruffled her hair in farewell. Her slight annoyance he ruined the fishtail her mother had done for her was eventually replaced with an inexplicable burst of warmth at the brief display of affection. As he finally headed for the door, Kikuchii could not help but watch as the rest of her class bid him farewell, like he was some hotshot rock star.

"He's not going to eat you alive when you talk to him."

Niou was in an upright position on his chair (their next subject was mathematics, his favorite, so of course he would be awake) and was browsing through the notes she had passed him a few minutes earlier. He suddenly held up a piece of grid paper in his left hand. Upon closer look, Kikuchii could make out _Check out:_ _Orange Range's Hana, Marvel's The Avengers, Baby Metal, Pirates of the Caribbean_ , and a few others written in her neat penmanship.

She must have left it in between the pages of the notebook she had just given him.

Her seatmate only smirked when she grabbed the paper, crumpled it, and stashed it inside her pocket, ignoring the warmth on her face.

.

.

.

Kikuchii received a mysterious package one afternoon.

It was a medium-sized box wrapped in newspaper, delivered at their doorstep. There was no fancy wrapping or ribbons that would indicate it was some sort of present at all, but she noticed a piece of paper attached to the side. The message read:

 _Bought these from the convenience store at the corner of Rikkai, as well as the one near the station. He frequents those. Use it well. – Your friendly neighbor_

She immediately recognized Niou's handwriting probably penned in his favorite g-tech pen. When she unwrapped the cardboard box, about a dozen smaller boxes of a familiar brand of green apple-flavored bubblegum filled it to the brim. She sat on the floor, her mind reeling. If she were to follow Niou's line of thinking, assuming that by 'he', he meant Marui…

She grabbed her coat, put on her shoes, and screamed, "I'll be out for a while to buy something in the convenience store! Do you want anything?"

Her mother screamed right back, "I'll have Nana come with you!" from the kitchen.

"No, no! I can manage on my own!" she exclaimed, smiling sheepishly at the portly woman with greying hair, their house helper, when she appeared from the kitchen. "I won't take long! I promise!"

"Are you going to the convenience store by the station?" Nana asked softly, and Kikuchii nodded. "That's only a few blocks away. I'll tell her." She smiled, and then went back to the kitchen. A few moments later, Nana returned with something in her hand. "She said at least take your phone with you."

"Be back in twenty!" her mother yelled, as if on cue, and Nana gave her a thumbs-up.

Kikuchii did not waste another moment and headed to the two 7-Elevens indicated in the message.

The green apple-flavored bubblegum was sold out in the branches.

.

.

.

Kikuchii counted—twelve times Marui had called out to her that week.

"Kikuchii!"

She would hand him a stick.

He would take it gratefully and sit beside her in silence, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

All because of that damned green apple-flavored bubblegum.

.

.

.

"Kikuchiiiiiii!"

("Damn you, Niou-san.")

.

.

.

Kikuchii finally learned the secret to Marui's popularity.

Even if the tennis team was already primed for the championship in the District Preliminaries, practice was more rigorous than usual—or rather, because practice was always rigorous, the tennis team was bound to become the champions. She was on the bleachers, her dSLR camera fit perfectly in her slender fingers, as she adjusted the lens and took the shots—she had been assigned to cover the club's preparations for the Nationals. Her eyebrows furrowed as she assessed the snaps of Marui's swings on the screen, softly admonishing herself because her pictures did not give justice to the beauty of his volleys.

There was a steady assurance in his serves, and an added flair whenever he hit his perfect volleys. His technique was topnotch and his play, breathtaking. But most notably, he was clearly enjoying himself; so much that Kikuchii could not help but lose herself a little as she cushioned her camera on her lap and enjoyed the match for what it's worth. Although Marui and Jackal lost to the seniors with a score of 7-5 in their practice match, the red-head smiled and pumped his fist in the air.

Marui radiated confidence.

Whereas most of the members fumbled through their routine, he breezed through it with practiced ease. She watched Marui assist his teammates as they did their stretches, saw how the rest of the freshmen seemed to hang onto his every word as he pitched in his two cents' about their form. She figured a wave of envy would always resurface whenever she watched him in a crowd—with him at the center—but this time, there was also a hint of something foreign, something she could not put a finger on.

"Kikuchii!"

It was the water break.

She had secretly wondered when Marui would notice her, and she reveled in the way he smiled as he ascended the bleachers. Without his prompt, she had a stick of gum ready for taking. He took it, the momentary brush of their fingers sending her heartbeat aflutter. Wordlessly, he sat beside her on the bleachers, unwrapped it with deft fingers, then began to chew in silence.

This had become routine.

"Did you come to watch me play?" He glanced at her.

"I came to watch all of you play." She tapped the camera on her lap. "It's for the paper."

"Hmph, you're no fun," he muttered, popping his gum.

She watched Marui from the corner of her eye. She liked how close he was sitting to her, and that their thighs were almost touching. Because he was leaning forward, she could see the beads of sweat trickling down his nape. She noticed his hair was much longer than it was the start of the year, the ends almost reaching his shoulders. But she said nothing—even if she wanted to comb her fingers through his silky hair and tie it in a neat ponytail—and it was only then she felt a surge of aggravation at her cowardice.

"I have to go." He turned to her. "Thanks."

The familiar sensation of heaviness pooled in her gut as she watched him stand up and prepare to go down the bleachers.

Then she noticed that something had fallen out of his pocket.

She reached for the item.

"Marui-san."

It was the same green apple-flavored bubblegum as the one she had given him moments ago, only it was completely sealed. She stared at the pack in her hand, then the pack she had just given him which was enclosed in his fist, and then to him.

Marui's face was as red as his hair.

"Ah." That must have been the only time she saw him at a loss for words.

Marui had her fooled. She didn't know what to make of it, but one thing's for sure: it made her feel like mush—like that strawberry pudding Amane got her during lunch. All jiggly and wobbly. The warmth in her cheeks was a reflection of the faint traces of red dusting Marui's face, his blush oddly uncharacteristic and discomfiting but at the same time utterly satisfying.

"Are you mad?"

This only prompted her to close the distance between them, as she brandished the gum on her palm. No, of course, she wasn't mad. Only overwhelmed with the stream of thoughts and questions running through her head. Exhaling, she resolved to shut her cloud of insecurities out. He must have seen his affect when she smiled slightly at him, and there was comfort in seeing him mirror the gesture, albeit more beatifically.

"Did you know that skeptics argue that the _Flying Dutchman_ is but a superior mirage seen at sea?" she uttered at last.

("Wow, Tomoe. Of all things—")

"Really?" He grinned. "But where's the fun in that? A haunted ship cursed to travel the seas forever is much more exciting." Marui regained his usual confidence, as if it had never left him. Then his expression softened as his hand enclosed her open palm, and he whispered, "I have to go now or else captain will have my head. But can you hold onto this for me?"

She hesitated.

"I'll need more gum after practice," was his only explanation. "So can you hold onto this until then?" he repeated.

She looked at him searchingly.

"I'll find you," he assured, grinning, when she did not respond.

There was no hesitation this time as she boldly threaded their fingers together, the pack of gum enclosed within their joined hands.

"I'm sure you will."

 **TBC**

. . .

 **A/N:** Hello! This is the edited version of 'Candy Girl', which I'll refer to as 'CG' from now on. After receiving help from my wonderful beta, **Whimsical Acumen** , I was able to strengthen my OC's characterization and incorporate the appropriate edits. It was difficult but fun to dissect her character, haha. So how's Kikuchii? Marui? Are you enjoying the story so far? Tell me what you think! :)


	2. Perfect Ten

**A/N:** This chapter is written in Marui's third-person point-of-view. I took liberties in his personality traits, which may or may not have been emphasized in the anime/manga, only because we saw so little of him in both. As some kind of parallel to Kikuchii's introduction in the previous chapter, I hope to establish his character first before we get to the juicier and fluffier bits, so pardon the rather lengthy expositions. I can only hope they're not cumbersome. More time-skips! Rated T for mild language. And in case you missed it, this is set in their first year in high school.

Thanks to those who reviewed, followed, and faved this humble fic of mine! I also want to give a hearty shout-out to my beta, **Whimsical Acumen** , who has been so patient and kind in helping me iron out the kinks in our protagonists' characterization, as well as correct atrocious errors in grammar and punctuation. Check out her Frozen & Rise of the Guardians crossover story Fables. Masterful storytelling. Great stuff.

. . .

 **2**

. . .

Marui Bunta was easily mistaken for self-absorbed.

The impression was based on his lack of qualms in referring to himself as a "genius," a term which had been used so loosely by his parents and teachers.

As a kid, he had the fastest running time in the entire school, disappointing scouts when he cast aside a possible career in track-and-field for tennis. In the classroom, he accumulated an impressive number of gold stars in his sticker book for his academic performance and conduct. He was charming, and favored by the faculty, which had its perks—he only had to stare at them with his large brown eyes, brimming with unshed tears, in order to get permission to feast on his mother's freshly-baked cookies during homeroom. Cookies, which he was willing to share over a joke with his classmates who guffawed until their stomachs hurt.

Marui's friendliness quelled potential animosity regarding his natural propensity to hog attention. He had a great boyish smile, the corners of his mouth extending all the way to his ears, revealing perfect white pearls that was more than enough to catch his female classmates' attention. Encounters with them during recess and lunch always consisted of laughter and playful banter, which eventually mellowed into soft smiles and flushed cheeks, alongside the promise of another grand adventure in their four-walled classroom in days to come; there was no wonder why he always got the most artfully-decorated valentines.

Even among adults, he was no stranger to the spotlight. The string of praises and blatant displays of affection, in the form of hair ruffling and warm hugs, only served as fuel to his fiery desire for approval. With everyone's eyes on his every move, he had come to realize that there was no other way to go but _up_. In a way, Marui had taken this as a challenge to himself: to prove to others and, most importantly, to himself that he was every bit the "genius" they claimed him to be.

Enter, Rikkaidai. Where he was surrounded by hundreds of people who were equally as competent as he, or even more.

It was a hard pill to swallow. Becoming average, that is.

If he had been a living god amongst his classmates as a kid, he was a mere mortal against the likes of Yukimura and Sanada, who were disputably the number one and two junior tennis players in all of Japan.

After tasting a series of bitter defeats against Rikkaidai's monsters, Marui was forced to question the authenticity of his supposed "genius." First, came the acceptance of his reality in his new school. He was good, but others were clearly better. It was followed by questioning what he wanted to get out of joining the team. He wanted to play tennis, for sure. But he also wanted to win and the glory that came with it. Then he assessed his options to achieve those goals. Wallowing in a muck of self-pity accomplished nothing and becoming one of the nameless faces of Rikkaidai's thirty-hundred student population was _definitely_ not an option.

He had to suck it up and move on.

One morning, he woke up and eyed himself in the bathroom mirror. Relaxing his arms and shoulders, he declared, "You're no genius." Then he leaned closer, jabbing his pointer finger against the surface. "But you're fucking awesome when you want to be."

Later that night, he dyed his hair red and practiced his swings with a renewed vigor.

The thing was, Marui was not satisfied with being acceptable. He needed to be better. Needed to be at par and, if possible, _overcome_.

The beauty of the competitive spirit fostered in Rikkaidai was that everyone was pushed to test their limit until the limit did not exist. This commitment to achieve was the positive motivating force that drove the entire school towards excellence, and ultimately, countless victories.

That was the pride of the champions.

And Marui obsessed over the idea of being a champion.

What little effort previously compensated by his raw talent was no longer enough to make himself visible. In order to go higher, he would have to redefine his priorities and make a few sacrifices.

After turning down a couple of friends' invitation for karaoke, he would stay behind after practices, replenish himself with a jug full of energy drink and a slice of his favorite cake, then proceed with his extra training regimen. He pushed himself to run laps until his legs gave out, where his knees and palms scraped against the gravel as he tried to catch his breath. He ignored the pain that trickled down the length of his arm as he returned every ball from the machine, aiming his shots so they'd land on the exact same spot on the wall for as long as he could manage. His eyes zeroed in on the ball as his body moved on its accord. With the proper angle of his arm and a controlled flick of his wrist, he swung his racket over and over until there was a consistency in his shots. Shots that allowed him to produce just enough speed and power to volley the ball and hit the net. Shots with just the right amount of spin to keep the ball rolling perfectly along its length until it dropped on the other side of the court.

The Tightrope Walking was among the techniques he perfected in a span of two years. Although his play was not enough to secure him the top spot he had been accustomed to in childhood, it was more than enough for him to be acknowledged by his seniors and for scouts and experts alike to pay him a little more attention.

By the time Marui reached his last year of junior high school, he had arguably become the best serve-and-volley player in the entire Japanese junior tennis circuit.

When he earned the regular's spot and in turn became part of the winner's circle, he was catapulted to the higher echelons of popularity. All of a sudden, he had gaggles of girls flocking wherever he went, photos and information about him posted on social media, as if his everyday life held the deepest secrets about the universe. The tennis club in general had a huge following, but it was a wonder why among the regulars he himself amassed his very own _fan club_ that was unfortunately only second to Yukimura's, but a fan club, nonetheless.

If someone were to ask him about it, Marui would answer in an offhanded manner, "Isn't it natural? I'm a genius, after all."

The truth of the matter is the guy was pretty damned charming when he wanted to be, and he knew it.

For someone who claimed to be so obsessed with himself, Marui was impressively perceptive. He knew what the crowd liked as he offered a smile that reached his eyes, dipped his head just a bit while listening, and firmly clutched their shoulder in assurance. He was bright and open, leaning back in his chair and bringing his arms behind his head, as if he couldn't care less about the fast-approaching exams and Nationals tournaments. It was as if he had all the time in the world for you.

People were innately drawn to this confidence. It provided an illusion of stability, an asset to the collective spirit of Japanese culture, which Marui aptly exemplified. A confidence he balanced with a personable disposition, consisting of Cheshire smiles, playful winks, and an overall laid-back attitude, easily setting him apart from his more intense teammates.

Maybe there was a ring of truth in his being self-absorbed, what with his ambitious pursuit, bordering on _obsession_ , to be recognized.

But there was no doubt in his heart that he was the type of self-absorbed guy people did _not_ mind having around.

.

.

.

In fact, Marui was well-liked in school.

The tennis regulars and club members respected and admired his efforts. He dutifully attended practices and completed training without complaint. A snarky but joshing retort from Niou would usually set Sanada off during the water break, but Marui would always be sure to follow it up with a pacifying remark to soothe the ex-vice captain's ruffled feathers. He readily extended his help whenever a teammate needed assistance in a routine or cheering up after a bad loss against the Rikkaidai Demons who were unforgiving in all their matches.

Marui was pleasant, so it was no surprise he would have friends even outside the tennis club.

There was a notable dichotomy of personalities between the tennis club and his other group of friends, however, and as a result, a slight difference in Marui's overall disposition. During practice, he was more compliant and mindful. In the presence of others, he was more shameless in his exuberant antics. When Marui realized none of the tennis club members were in his class that year, he had unwittingly found himself in the presence of a more easygoing crowd during the opening ceremony, who had unabashedly veered their initial pleasantries to a topic Marui was well-versed in.

Girls.

"Did Fujioka's rack get bigger?"

"Holy shit, is that Saitou?"

"The second years say this Ono-senpai's pretty hot."

"That's her by the stage, right?"

Although Marui had kept mum all throughout the exchange, his gaze was quick to flit from one girl to another, furtive and fleeting, as opposed to his friends who openly goggled.

Marui was not ashamed to admit he had a healthy dose of interest in girls; he had enough experience that would make even Sanada blush.

But it was muted, nothing out-of-control like that guy from Yamabuki, which would have made the female population wary of him. His interest was mainly fueled by being the object of affection of many female admirers ever since he entered junior high. As much as he liked to pretend he was impervious to their charms, he was weak to the sincerity of their every gesture and the way they seemed to hang to his every word. There was a rush at the briefest physical contact, a sense of pride whenever he would see them flush, knowing it was _his_ doing.

The amount of devotion, albeit a bit crazy, was nothing foreign to him. Marui may not be as good as Niou in reading his opponents in a match, but the red-head was certain he could give the Trickster a run for his money when it came to noticing little things about girls.

He was receptive to the way their eyes lit up whenever he would take his time to ask them about their day. He noticed the change of intonation in their voices whenever he happened to greet them in the hallways. He made sure to respond with bright smiles and affirming touches whenever they would go out of their way to prepare elaborate presents for his birthday and Valentine's day.

But Marui was wise enough not to pay too much attention, knowing from past experience that too much would become detrimental to him. He was careful to cut the conversation short whenever innocuous talks about tennis and TV shows suddenly bordered on anything too personal. His smiles were genuine whenever they'd compliment him, but it was generic; the same things he would offer everybody else.

It wasn't a question of whether Marui was afraid to commit or not, however. After a slew of girlfriends in junior high, nobody would think to question Marui about commitment. Rather, it was a question of whether he was with the right girl or not.

Which brought him back to his current surroundings, as he scanned the stream of students who were filling in the gymnasium and heading straight to their assigned chairs that were all neatly arranged in consecutive rows. Marui's section was seated in the very last row in the gym, and he had a good vantage point of everyone coming in.

Entering high school marked new beginnings, so it was commonplace for a particular crowd of healthy males to pay closer attention to the members of the opposite sex. There was hushed agreement among his group of friends that morning, as they eyed the crowd of girls present in the gymnasium, that Rikkaidai housed a plethora of beauties. Particularly females who had noticeably grown and filled their tight uniform in all the right places after spring break.

Ah, the joys of puberty.

Marui leaned back in his plastic chair, relaxed, and watched the passing crowd with interest while his friends elbowed one another whenever someone vaguely hot passed by. They were muttering numbers under their breaths, their heads drawn together in a pseudo-huddle. He stifled a laugh at the sight and leaned towards them to tune in.

"…five."

"A five does not give justice to that ass _._ I say we give her a six."

Following their gazes, Marui let his eyes stray downward, until they were fixed on the girl's backside, which was unfortunately partially covered by the sweater she had tied around her waist. He tilted his head to the right to get a better view, and looking up, recognized the tall, buxom blonde who took a seat in one of the middle rows. He relaxed back into his chair and hummed appreciatively.

"Amane's an eight." Marui asserted with no reservations. When they eyed him curiously, he merely shrugged, a small smirk forming on his lips. "If you're basing it off her ass, believe me… she's definitely an eight."

"You lucky son of a bitch," one of them griped and playfully punched him on the shoulder.

Marui caught a whiff of strawberries.

"Who's that?" another whispered.

His gaze trailed after a petite girl with long, wavy black hair who walked past their row and took the seat beside Amane. Her skin was remarkably pale, as if it had never been touched by sunlight. The corners of her plump lips were set into a small downward arc, and her large charcoal eyes flickered between the girls conversing animatedly beside her and the stage where the teachers were busy preparing for the morning program.

He could see why his friends had 'marked' her—she was a walking, _breathing_ Japanese doll.

If that wasn't enough to make her stick out like a sore thumb, there was also the fact that she seemed ill at ease to be surrounded by a group of lively classmates, who remained oblivious to her arrival. When Amane dragged her chair out of line to talk to one of her friends, Marui could sense the black-haired girl's growing discomfort. It appeared her skirt got caught in between the chairs when Amane had moved hers from its original position. Her eyebrows were furrowed in concern as she shifted in her seat, her eyes darting between Amane's chair and Amane, who was still preoccupied with her conversation.

"Never saw her before," Marui remarked after a long pause.

The girl seemed to have succeeded in catching Amane's attention. She bunched her skirt to the side, which immediately caught Marui's eye, and offered a smile towards Amane, who dragged her chair back and profusely apologized.

"Isn't there a standard length for skirts?" His friend was also staring at the girl's legs. "Skirts that long shouldn't be allowed, right?"

Marui hummed his agreement as he continued to watch the girl, who after assessing the state of her uniform was now painfully trying to blend with the background.

Rikkaidai was an escalator school, and the majority of people already knew each other from junior high. He could bet Jackal's allowance that the black-haired girl was among the few who just entered for high school, which would explain her difficulty in assimilating with some of the already established cliques. Seeing the rather helpless look on her face, Marui took an immediate pity on her and found himself watching her for a while until the principal finally took his spot behind the podium and the opening ceremony officially started.

Marui finally looked away and straightened in his seat as Yukimura climbed up on stage to give his speech as the freshmen representative.

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.

.

Between his classes and tennis club practice, Marui faced a sea of different faces. He had his fair share of interactions with a variety of personalities, especially girls. Girls who boldly asked him out from the get-go, and girls who took a stealthier approach and sneaked love letters in his locker. With no prior knowledge of the black-haired girl who did not pursue him, she became one of the nameless faces in Rikkaidai's thirty-hundred population.

Marui forgot her.

Not until he showed up in Class I-C one lunch time, anyway, and asked her for spare gum.

Her name was Kikuchii Tomoe, the 'Candy Girl'.

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.

.

Marui thrived in all kinds of attention—applause, words of affirmation, you name it.

So when Kikuchii showed signs of interest in him, of course, he was flattered.

Out of habit, he had stuck around Niou during lunch time, with his doubles-partner, Jackal, sometimes in tow. Kikuchii never moved an inch from her seat beside Niou's, her posture erect and guarded. Her attention was decidedly pinned on a book propped open on her desk. But he was not oblivious to the way the corners of her mouth would quirk upward whenever he would whine about cake, or how she would pass her snort as cough whenever he bickered with Niou about something stupid. He would always share a look with Niou whenever the punchline to a joke popped up because despite her best efforts, she would not be able to hide her amusement.

Marui and Niou never called her out, simply because she amused them the same way they amused her.

Although she never talked to him, never fought for his attention unlike her new friend, Amane, or her other classmates, he would feel her eyes, warm but intense, whenever he would enter the classroom. These were furtive glances, gone as soon as she had confirmed his presence in the crowd and back to whatever preoccupied her at the moment: a book, her notes, or perhaps the small crowd of girls she tried so hard to blend in with.

As furtive as her glances were, he noticed Kikuchii had great eyes. They were large, expressive black pools, which sparkled with barely-concealed curiosity. Her long eyelashes, which would flutter rapidly whenever he would catch her watching him, kept him from detecting _anything_ that would have emboldened him to approach her sooner. Was she interested in him _that_ way? He never really knew. Nonetheless, it did not stop him from admiring her from afar, liking the way her two front teeth would peep out from her usually closed-lipped smiles whenever her classmates would talk about something funny.

It didn't take very long for him to start paying attention to her.

He used the crowd to his advantage, used it as a front and securely placed himself at the center to make it seem less obvious that his attention had completely drifted elsewhere, particularly on the girl seated by herself in the corner of the room. He watched her listen with rapt attention to her classmates' conversations, chip in two or three words as some sort of contribution, and then lapse into silence once more. He would catch her writing seriously in her notebook or typing in her cellphone, which greatly piqued his curiosity. As a consequence, he would hang around her general vicinity and crane his neck to take a peek at what she was writing while in the guise of bugging the hell out of Niou.

One time, he caught a glimpse of the word _Avengers_ crossed out on her notepad. It was endearing how she thought she was being secretive about her scribbling, just like how she thought he wasn't aware that she had been eavesdropping on their conversations.

"What are you writing?"

"Nothing," she stammered and quickly slammed her notebook shut when Marui peered over her shoulder to look. When he tilted his head towards her to study her up close, she simply averted her face towards the other direction. Her ears were tinged pink.

"Do you like superhero movies?" he asked before he could stop himself.

It took her a while to respond. Maybe she had been waiting for him to give her her personal space back before she turned to face him again. She looked somewhat uncertain, as if fearful of where the conversation was headed. "They're okay, I guess," she said finally.

He mentally pumped his fist in the air. Progress!

He ignored Niou's knowing look and proceeded with more confidence. "Are you more of a Marvel or DC fan?"

In the blink of an eye, she looked pained and he couldn't help but feel panicked a little himself. Was it something he said? Before he could even figure it out, the lunch bell had rung, and ultimately punctuated their brief conversation. Later on, he would realize that perhaps superhero movies were not their common ground, so he tried a different approach the next time he dropped by her desk.

" _The Book of Five Rings_ , huh."

Kikuchii looked up from the book and stared at him, surprised and perhaps a bit expectant. "You know the book?"

Niou was mouthing something behind her, which Marui easily understood, being the genius that he was. "It's about the Olympics."

Kikuchii paused, momentarily confused, and then looked thoughtful. "Oh, you must be talking about a different book with the same title, Marui-san," she concluded. He glowered at Niou, who was laughing silently behind her. "This is a text written by Miyamoto Musashi. If you're interested in kenjutsu and martial arts, I can let you borrow after I finish."

"He's only interested in one thing," Niou drawled, causing Kikuchii to reward him with a curious glance.

Marui flashed him the finger and managed to hide it before Kikuchii turned to him again for confirmation. "The different elements in Musashi's swordsmanship are pretty cool. I'm interested," he assured, smiling at her.

" _Very_ interested," Niou mouthed.

He flashed Niou the finger again as soon as Kikuchii returned to her reading, looking pleased.

The green apple-flavored bubblegum was his excuse to sit with her.

Tucking his own pack of gum in his pocket, he would call out to her and ask for a spare. He felt elated whenever she had a stick of gum ready for taking. Candy was their _thing_. His hand would brush against hers, soft and smooth. The faint scent of strawberries would overwhelm him. He liked the companionable silence that enveloped right after, as he watched her shuffle in her seat, seemingly at a loss of what to do. He stifled a smirk when eventually she would opt to stick her nose in a book, as if it would shield her from his presence.

Her silence didn't bother him as much as it confused him.

Because even if she would noticeably close up around him, she did like him, didn't she?

.

.

.

When the weekly school publication came out, there was a huge black-and-white photo of himself in the centerspread of the paper—he was in mid-swing and was about to hit his famous Tightrope Walking technique. Right beside the photo was a detailed article about his tennis style, and written in small text at the bottom of the picture was _Photo by:_ _Kikuchii Tomoe._ Marui thought he looked cool in the picture, and as a cool guy, it wouldn't do to grin like an idiot over something so small.

"You look stupid." Niou threw a towel on his face. "Wipe it off."

"Have you told her yet, Marui-kun?" Yukimura teased, looking at him knowingly and then at the girl by the bleachers, who was currently preoccupied with fixing the lens of her camera; she had become a regular visitor during practice. As if sensing they were talking about her, she looked up from the gadget, and then back down again in slight embarrassment when Yukimura waved.

"Told her what? That you're all meddling bastards?" His cheeks felt hot.

"How can he even manage to tell her anything when he has to use _gum_ as an excuse to talk," Niou said nonchalantly, unfazed by his glare. "You owe me thirty hundred yen."

"Two boxes of that gum only cost twenty-four hundred. You're not fooling me, Niou."

"I'm charging extra for my services. I thought that was obvious."

He heaved a long, deep sigh. "Fine. Jackal's paying for it, anyway," he said easily, eliciting a predictable 'What the fuck?' from the half-Brazilian. He looked at his doubles partner who easily towered over him. "I'll count it as a belated birthday present. You didn't give me anything this year."

When he climbed up the bleachers to talk to her during the water break, he pointedly ignored the steadily growing thud in his chest when he took in the sight of her long, creamy legs—her skirt was the right length now—tucked sideways as she cushioned her camera on her lap. The thud increased in tempo, going faster and more erratic until it was a distinct staccato, when her head snapped up, the corners of her mouth curling as she finally looked his way.

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.

Ever since she found out about his _ingenious_ attempts to strike conversation, it was now commonplace for Kikuchii to wait for him until practice ended.

"Oh," he said, very pleased, when she handed him a cake box one afternoon. He could tell that she was gauging his reaction. "How'd you know I love peach tart?"

"You mentioned it the other day," she said simply, her eyebrows furrowing in concern. "Was I wrong?"

Marui had mentioned it in passing.

He remembered he was sorting through the cake boxes he received after the Kantou Tournament championship, with Kikuchii working her way through a tennis manual on his left and Niou slumped on the table and feigning sleep on his right. Her eyes had possessed that characteristic intensity whenever she was 'in the zone', and he was secretly delighted he could watch her, looking all serious, up close.

"Nope," he replied quickly. "You've never been wrong when it comes to me, anyway."

She broke out into a pleased grin, her two front teeth noticeably larger than the rest. It was the first time he became privy to the small gap between her teeth and the little crinkle at the corner of her eyes when she smiled. Minute details that warmed him.

He stared.

Kikuchii seemed to have taken his reaction the wrong way, as she immediately shut her mouth closed and shifted in her seat.

Then he snapped out of it.

To hide his own uneasiness, he dug in his cake box and began to eat. It wasn't long before they lapsed into the familiar bubble of silence that was solely theirs, with him snacking and her reading, until he had to return to practice.

"Hey, Kikuchii," he called out when he had reached the bottom of the bleachers. He craned his head over his shoulder, assessing her.

She looked up from her book.

"You should smile more often." His face was burning when he sprinted back to the courts.

God, he was so _uncool_ sometimes.

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.

.

The only thing Marui disliked about his friendship with Kikuchii was that the other boys seemed to think it was okay to talk to her now that he was able to make her seem more approachable.

The general logic was that if she was interacting with the likes of Marui then she wasn't so bad and wasn't as weird as they initially thought her to be. It ticked him off whenever his friends, who previously didn't have the guts to talk to her, would surround her desk during lunchtime and chat her up.

To his utter surprise, Kikuchii handled it well and seemed to enjoy herself.

He could have simply demanded to know what the hell was wrong with her, smiling at the other guys with that little crinkle in her eyes and the same elegant arc of her lips he thought was only meant for him. Sure, he explicitly told her to smile more often, but didn't she understand that they might get the wrong idea, with her smiling at them like _that?_ But the thing with Marui was that he did _not_ ask questions—to demand for answers would discredit his "genius."

More so, it would have given away certain… sentiments.

He still did not have enough confidence to deal with _that_ yet.

So when he saw her standing beside Sanada during their class trip to the newly-opened historical museum, engaged in what looked like a lengthy conversation, which was shocking in all ways, it took all of his willpower not to march right up to the pair and wedge himself between them. They were currently looking at the huge array of swords in the glass display. Kikuchii might have been educating Sanada about the history of kendo or some other shit about swords. And Sanada being _Sanada_ could be trusted enough not to ruin _his_ chances, what with him having the emotional range of a teaspoon and all. But these thoughts were unfortunately not enough to quell the burning jealousy erupting from the pit of his stomach.

"Something fell," Niou remarked beside him.

"What?"

"Your face." Niou deadpanned, following his gaze. "Our class has an uneven number of boys and girls, so they were paired up together."

"Why didn't you pair up with Sanada instead?"

"You seriously asking me that?" Niou was thoroughly amused with his sourness. "Look, at least they're not bonding over _other_ swords."

"Shut up, I'm not in the mood," he grumbled.

"I'll lure him away. Five hundred yen."

"Jackal—"

"Said he won't be paying for any of your shit anymore."

Marui sighed. "I'm flat out broke."

"How about that screwdriver on top of your study desk?"

That brand new screwdriver was his dad's, but Marui was feeling desperate. "Deal."

A moment later, Sanada received what looked like an urgent phone call. He hastily excused himself from Kikuchii, and then Marui took that as the opportune moment to take the spot beside her.

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"I didn't know you were interested in swords."

Kikuchii looked at him, surprised, and then visibly relaxed when she realized who he was. "Japanese swordsmanship has a rich history," she offered, tracing the glass with her fingers. Previously, she would have let the topic drop, but ever since she warmed up to him, she was bolder in prolonging their conversations. "This katana was the one featured in that movie, _'The Wandering Samurai'_."

"Heh. You've actually watched _'The Wandering Samurai'_?" he asked pleasantly.

She colored slightly. "No. But I read an article about it online and saw a picture."

"Good."

He smirked when she turned to look at him, confused.

"Let's watch it together." He looked right back at her, his confidence building when he noticed her cheeks turning red. "You can tell me all about the history of this sword. Let's meet in front of the station at eleven this Saturday."

"You didn't even ask if I was available," she muttered, her eyes fixed on the glass display. She seemed to be thinking very hard.

"So you're not available?" He was pouting.

"I'm available," she said after a while.

"It's settled, then," he declared happily, matching Kikuchii's strides as they sauntered off to the other displays in the room. They stopped right in front of a huge portrait of a beautiful lady donning an impressive armor. Her expression was fierce as she led the battalion trailing right after her.

"Tomoe, meet Tomoe," Marui remarked breathily.

Kikuchii was undaunted by his casual mention of her name, and he wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. "Tomoe Gozen. I was named after her because my birthday fell on the Jidai Matsuri."

He filed that bit of information in his head, as he looked up at the portrait of the woman with white skin and long, flowing black hair. "Tomoe, huh."

She continued to stare at the picture. "Yup, the heroine of the Genpei War."

"Tomoe."

"…"

"Tomoe."

"…"

"…"

"…Yes?"

He couldn't wipe the giddy grin off of his face. Her cheeks were a pretty tinge of pink again. "They're all crowding towards that door."

"Ah. I think that's the section where you can put on different period outfits."

"A photo booth."

"That's right."

There was a long line when they got to the area, and he was careful enough to stick with Kikuchii so they wouldn't get separated. When he saw Niou in the crowd, Marui gave him a thumbs up, which only earned him a ghost of a smile from his friend. It wasn't long before it was their turn. There were racks of clothing and props neatly arranged in the corner of the room.

Putting on his costume, the _bunkan sokutai_ , was a daunting task. It had a dozen layers of clothing, and having zero knowledge of how to put them on, he visibly struggled. He got a familiar whiff of strawberries when Kikuchii, who was supposedly working on putting her own costume, closed the distance between them and helped pull the article of clothing he struggled to get past his head. There were a total of twelve garments and accessories, but Kikuchii was at ease as she softly instructed him in their proper order. It was the most confident he had heard her; her soothing but firm words were mellifluous. Whenever he writhed against a piece of clothing, she steadfastly helped him with it, the slight brush of her fingers against his chest sending his heartbeat into frenzy. She was so close; he could see the lighter flecks of brown in her eyes. He couldn't help but gravitate closer, with his head only a few inches away from hers, though she barely noticed, as she was so focused on smoothing the wrinkles on the cloth draped around his neck.

Then she stepped back and assessed her handiwork.

The moment was broken.

It was her turn. Her outfit had even more complicated layers than his, and to his dismay, he did not have the opportunity to close the distance again because she proved to be efficient in putting on all twelve articles of clothing without his help. When she had difficulty wrapping the final layer around her waist, however, he eagerly took the cloth from her hands and tied the knot behind her, taking pleasure in the brief contact.

Then the photographer instructed them in their poses and took their shots. It was quick. Before Marui could offer to help Kikuchii with untying the sash of her _junihitoe_ , the photographer kindly asked him to step away. Apparently, he wanted to take photos of Kikuchii alone—Marui was more than happy to oblige.

"Those types of clothing suit her well," said one of the girls waiting in line.

Marui couldn't help but agree. Although Kikuchii looked terribly uncomfortable sitting alone and with everyone's attention on her, she eventually managed to relax with the photographer's gentle prodding.

"She kind of reminds you of Tomoe Gozen."

"Tomoe's way cuter," he said unabashedly, which befuddled the nameless girl.

When he sauntered off to Kikuchii after her turn, he caught her having an animated conversation with the photographer, who was showing her some features in his camera while the next students in line donned their outfits. She sensed him approach, and after politely excusing herself from the old man, met him halfway and brandished two photos in her hand. One was the photo of them together, where he stood behind her chair, his hand atop her shoulder. He looked good in his outfit, naturally, but Kikuchii looked every bit the regal Japanese Empress, with her pale complexion and her long, black hair cascading past her shoulders.

"Can I keep this one?" she asked, hopeful.

"As long as I get to keep this," he said, waving the other photo where she posed solo.

"Deal," she said, smiling brightly at him, which predictably did things to his stomach again.

Kikuchii Tomoe was _definitely_ cuter than Tomoe Gozen.

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.

Later that afternoon, as they walked home together, Marui decided it was the right time.

"Tomoe."

How he knew exactly? He wasn't sure. Maybe it was the way her name sounded right as it rolled off his tongue for the first time? Or it had something to do with his growing obsession with the scent of strawberries, mint, and ink. Or how his mouth ran dry whenever she crossed and uncrossed her legs on the bleachers. Or the flip-flopping in his gut whenever her charcoal eyes would light up at the sight of him.

Like how she was gazing at him right now.

"Yes?" She smiled that toothy smile he liked so much. The smile that told him she was at ease in his presence.

He was confident as he took Kikuchii's smaller hand in his, failing to notice the flash of doubt in her eyes, as he focused on how perfectly their hands fit together when he intertwined them. He squeezed her hand, as if to reassure himself, her palms smooth against his calloused ones.

A deep breath.

"Go out with me."

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As he lay in bed that night, with his face buried in his pillow, he tasted the bitter tang of regret and confusion as he remembered the look in her eyes when he finally looked up—the utter panic so apparent that even her long lashes fluttering rapidly couldn't hide it.

" _I'm so sorry, Marui-san."_

 **TBC**

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 **A/N:** I was gunning for a shoujo-like mood for this story. Was I successful? Any form of feedback makes me happy (and update faster)~


	3. Cracked

**A/N:** Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows, and faves! You guys are awesome, really. Now that the prologue-ish chapters are finished, we'll start taking things slow(er). This was supposedly a long-ass chapter of around eighteen to twenty pages (whoops), but I decided to cut it in half to make things less overwhelming. Unbeta-ed version, so pardon the lapses in grammar and etc. I might have overlooked.

. . .

 **3**

. . .

Kikuchii has had the same routine since junior high.

Every day, she would go straight home after an hour-and-a-half of commute from school and arrive just in time for early supper. Nana would prepare a light-flavored meal, usually consisting of steamed fish and miso soup, and serve her a bowl of fruits for dessert. It was a dinner staple. Her mother had long imposed on this type of strict diet, and it was something Kikuchii had grown accustomed to while growing up.

After supper with her mother and Nana, Kikuchii would slink into her spacious bathroom and indulge in a warm bubble bath, which Nana had prepared for her beforehand, until she was noticeably waterlogged. The rest of the evening, she would coop up in her room with the air-conditioning at full blast, either poring over a foreign novel as language practice, redecorating her wall with her stack of photos, or completing her school work. By ten-thirty, she was under the covers, fast-asleep.

Ever since she had resolved to involve herself in more friendships, however—in this case, joining the school newspaper—there were adjustments to this routine. Instead of going straight home after class, she would hang around the courts a little later to take photos of the tennis team's preparations, or sometimes drop by the local camera store a few stations from her home, to either have her Nikon D3300 cleaned or collect the photos she had developed. It was a welcome change, even if she had to give up a few things in the process. Though sleep had previously been a non-negotiable—she had to have at least eight hours of sleep to function optimally—lately, she was willing to sacrifice an hour or two to keep up with the academic rigor Rikkaidai prided itself in. The midterms were fast-approaching, and she's been spending most of her time studying until the wee hours of the morning.

After solving the last wall of trigonometry equations in their problem set, she dove for her duvet, enjoying the warmth of her comforter and the fort of pillows and stuff toys surrounding her. It was one in the morning then, several hours past her usual bedtime, so it was no surprise that the moment her head hit the pillow, sleep had quickly descended upon her.

She woke up at precisely six the next morning, an hour later than usual.

She had apparently forgotten to set her alarm, which expectedly set her into frenzied preparation for school.

Unfortunately, an hour made all the difference in a commuter's life. An hour lost meant she would have to fight tooth and nail with the rush hour crowd for a decent spot on the train; the crowd she was usually loathe to encounter and took the effort to avoid. As expected, the train was swamped by the time she got on, and she had to mentally fortify herself against the warmth and heady mixture of perfume and perspiration from the morning commuters .

She let out a breath when the doors slid open to her station.

With a small frown, she combed her fingers through her long, black tresses, pulling and tugging at it as she bunched it together into a high ponytail, so as to worry less about the stray strands and tangles. She could feel the beads of sweat trickling down her nape and the sides of her torso, which she pointedly ignored for the time being, as she brisk-walked past the school athletes all ambling towards the Rikkaidai gates.

No single tennis club member was among them because tennis practice had started an hour ago.

She was late.

Adjusting the strap of her camera bag, she picked up her pace along the pathways leading to the tennis courts. The sounds of heavy grunts and the distinct _pok_ of the tennis ball greeted her upon entrance. She hastily made her way up the bleachers to set up, resisting the urge to scan the courts and look for a particular shade of bubblegum red in the sea of boring browns and blacks, lest she tripped.

Kikuchii was by no means athletic—she was mediocre at best in Rikkaidai standards—but she had a decent sense of balance. With the bulky camera in hand, she traipsed on the topmost part of the bleachers and took shots of what was left of training. She leaned back, clicked the shutter, and assessed the shot. Having been accustomed to the task of covering tennis practice, she was already well aware of the proper timing and angles which would yield the best pictures.

The next few minutes was a fluid series of movements, the sound of her camera shutter— _click, click—_ the only thing resounding in the distant quiet.

A flash of bubblegum red appeared on screen.

Kikuchii steadied the sudden tremor in her hands when she caught sight of Marui from a distance, dutifully taking the shot as he dashed towards the net and hit a perfect volley. His expression blazed with triumph when he finally brought an end to the rally and won the practice match.

She felt her heart swoop down to her stomach at the familiar sight, the bubble of apprehension expanding in her chest.

She was afraid; afraid that if by some weird impulse or force of habit his head swiveled towards her general direction, the corners of his mouth would drop seamlessly at the sight of her. She honestly didn't know what she would do if that happened.

Ten-meters away from where she stood, Marui turned towards her.

Her breath hitched, and in a moment of mindless panic, she hastily stepped down from her spot on the topmost bleachers and lost her footing.

Everything happened so quickly that she barely registered the arm that wrapped around her shoulder and gently lifted her from her undignified sprawl on the ground. There was a sting on her chin, and brushing her fingers over the area, she stiffened at the sight of blood dripping from her fingertips. Dropping her fist to the side, she also noticed the gashes on her knees caked in mud and blood.

Oh, God.

She just toppled gracelessly off the bleachers and made a complete joke out of herself, didn't she?

Suddenly hyper-aware of the lean muscle supporting her weight, she looked up, and came face-to-face with a tall, bespectacled brunet who murmured what sounded like an introduction ("Yagyuu Hiroshi from I-A," he said), but she was still too shaken (and a tad disappointed that it wasn't a certain red-head who came to her rescue) to respond that she could only allow herself to be seated on the bottom bleacher where Yagyuu immediately began tending to her wounds.

All the while, she refused to let her gaze wander off her shoes, positively mortified that she had caused a scene in the tennis courts, out of all places.

("You klutz," she berated herself.)

Her camera suddenly appeared in her line of sight, and was carefully deposited on her lap. Looking up, she noticed Niou standing by her side, his expression bordering between entertained and concerned. When she didn't have the courage to speak, he wordlessly and playfully tugged at her messy ponytail, which could easily be mistaken as an odd way to reassure her, before he ambled back towards the courts where a small crowd had already formed. Her head snapped back down towards the camera on her lap when it dawned that they were probably talking about her. The sinking sensation in her stomach was only magnified when she assessed the damage in her camera for the first time.

She bit her lip—

a flash of red crossed her periphery

—and stifled a soft sob.

Yagyuu eased the pressure of the cotton swab on her chin, and reassured her.

"It stings a bit, but it'll get better."

Kikuchii could only manage a nod, hoping his innocuous statement would ring true for everything.

. . .

The sound of the lunch bell reverberated off the walls of the classrooms, and like a fast-approaching downpour, the soft chatter eventually escalated into full-blown conversations and hearty laughter. Groups of students streamed out of the door and headed to the cafeteria, whereas those who chose to stay behind with their packed lunch had already dragged and arranged their desks into their designated circles.

Kikuchii sat with the usual group of female classmates, sitting in a half-arc around her desk and excitedly chattering about a wide array of topics; the upcoming fall fashion, the handsome captain from Hyoutei Gakuen who Sanada barely defeated in the semi-finals round of the Nationals, the newly-opened cake shop near the train station, and whether they should drop by after school or not.

It was the type of conversation Kikuchii could easily have participated in had she tried hard enough, but alas, she did not have the heart to include herself into this particular crowd this time around; even if at some point she had become the subject of discussion when the group finally had the courage to point out Kikuchii's bandaged chin and knees, and as a consequence, bring up the small accident in the tennis courts earlier that morning ("…lucky Yagyuu was there to help patch you up. Even if we'll have to start covering up because of the cold, you really don't want your legs to scar, Kikuchii. Your legs are killer," Amane exclaimed and turned to her, to which Kikuchii gave a half-hearted smile.)

What loud snippets of conversations she usually would have paid close attention to was nothing but white noise against the loud thoughts buzzing in her head all morning. It was only at this point, as she was suddenly reminded of how embarrassing it was to have been found in an awkward tangle of limbs at the bottom of the bleachers, did Kikuchi finally admit to having a _horrible_ day.

Her eyes momentarily darted towards the doorway, then to the other occupants of the room. When Amane's blonde hair was the only thing that popped out of the boring sea of brown and blacks, she eventually dropped her gaze back to the glossy black bento box on her table. She was loathe to admit that even Nana's glorious braised beef, which was a delicious mix of sweet and salty, could not ease the sinking sensation in her stomach.

It has been two weeks since Marui showed up in her classroom.

"Okay, that's enough moping."

Kikuchii was startled to see Amane standing by her desk. Looking around, she noticed the rest of her peers were nowhere to be found, except for a pair of male classmates who sat in a corner of the room and openly ogled Amane. She was not surprised to see her friend unfazed by the attention; the other girl was probably already used to the stares. Amane was buxom and loud, so she easily stood out. Studying her friend up-close, Kikuchii could easily see why she was popular.

Her friend's hair, which according to her was the trendiest shade of blonde, was tied up in a tight bun, and her bangs, which usually fell atop her brows, was pushed back by a huge headband so that no stray strand blocked her pretty face from view. Kikuchii then became all too aware of the blaze of concern in her striking hazel eyes, enhanced by the thin layer of ink lining her upper eyelid. Make-up was strictly prohibited in school, but Amane always managed to slip past the dress code, which Kikuchii secretly admired her for. It took guts to do something like that.

"Did Takahashi tease you about Pokemon again?"

That snapped her out of her thoughts. Kikuchii shook her head, her lips finally curling upward into a soft smile. "I thought we weren't going to mention that incident again."

"Hey, I only brought it up because I was ready to fight for your honor," Amane retorted and plopped down on Niou's vacant seat next to hers. Kikuchii noticed the blonde had her pen and notebook laid out on Niou's desk, the pages glaringly _blank_. Amane followed her gaze, and smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, about that... I was wondering if you would let me take a peek at your trig homework."

Kikuchii immediately fished for her math notebook in her bag, then handed it over to her friend without a fuss.

"Did I ever tell you I love you?" The blonde beamed when Kikuchii looked flustered, and then proceeded with copying her friend's solutions. "So what's really bugging you?"

Kikuchi played with the end of her ponytail, her eyes decidedly pinned on the camera on her desk. Her shoulders slumped as she stared at the long, zigzag crack marring the lens of her Nikon D3300—it was a present from her parents last Christmas, and she could remember how positively ecstatic she had been when the once sleek device fit perfectly in the cavern of her small hands.

"I know about what happened this morning," the blonde interjected, eyeing the device. "But you've been looking like someone died all week, so it made me wonder whether there was something more going on."

Kikuchii opened her mouth, about to protest, but closed it again.

"Don't think I haven't noticed you glancing at the door every time lunch comes around." Amane smirked as she momentarily ceased her scribbling to glance at her. "It's Marui, isn't it?"

Kikuchii fidgeted in her seat.

"Thought so." Amane's smile morphed into a triumphant grin. "Spill."

Admittedly, Kikuchii was hesitant to talk to Amane about Marui because the blonde was notorious for being the biggest gossip in the freshmen's side of Rikkaidai. The last thing Kikuchii wanted was to be pestered about what happened, not only because it meant she would have to deal with strangers prying into her life, but because spreading the news around might only put a bigger wedge between the red-head and her.

Her gaze darted towards Amane. Had it been any other juicy piece of news, she knew the blonde would have stared at her like she was about to reveal the winning numbers in that day's lottery, but judging by the unapologetic downward furrow of Amane's penciled eyebrows, she could tell her friend was undoubtedly concerned about her. Kikuchii was suddenly reminded of the start of the school year when the blonde had gone out of her way to ask the new girl if she wanted some strawberry milk. It was the start of a blossoming, albeit slightly awkward, friendship. The rest was history.

"Hello? Earth to Kikuchii?" Amane waved a hand in front of her face.

Kikuchii suddenly felt bad for doubting her friend's good intentions. With her mind made up, she inched her desk towards her Amane and told her everything. At first, Amane was positively giddy, affirming Marui's intentions while throwing her teasing grins in the process. It was only when Kikuchii dropped the bomb that Amane's joshing expression mellowed into a rare look of thoughtfulness.

"I'm surprised, actually," Amane's tone was wistful, with no trace of judgment laced in her words. "I've been under the impression you liked him."

"I do like him," was her quick reply. There was a pause, as she carefully picked her words. "But I think it's a different 'like' from what Marui-san had in mind."

"Ah," was Amane's simple interjection, as though she now had a full understanding of what was happening. "You haven't even dropped the suffix yet, and he thinks he could take the leap so early? What an idiot." The blonde must have seen something in her face because she quickly gave her reassurance. "Hey, don't let it bother you too much. You've done the right thing by refusing something that would have made you uncomfortable. If you're not ready, you're not ready." She patted her hand. "Rejecting someone takes courage. You've done well."

"I don't think he'd want to talk to me again after what happened," she mumbled, her eyebrows furrowed in frustration. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Amane was about to blurt something out, then backtracked and settled with, "Don't worry." She patted her hand again, more gently this time. "Just sit it out. He'll come around."

. . .

Kikuchii crouched and collected the two bottles of strawberry milk from the slot.

The cafeteria was busy. Rows of tables still teemed with students even if only a quarter of an hour of lunchtime was left. Amane usually offered to buy Kikuchii her post-meal craving—either strawberry pudding, milk, or a Rikkai melon bun—because it provided her plenty of opportunity to mingle with the other freshmen who usually had their lunch in the cafeteria, and Kikuchii was more than happy to relinquish the task to the blonde, given she usually had a book or pop-culture research to preoccupy herself with.

The only reason why Kikuchii had the good grace to pick up on Amane's job that day was because the blonde had yet to complete her Trigonometry homework. In an attempt to comfort her about what happened with Marui—as well as thank her for letting her copy her homework—she offered to pay for Kikuchii's milk. Amane had a dozen walls of equations to copy off of her, so Kikuchii volunteered to go to the cafeteria and buy the drinks.

As she walked past the long tables, Kikuchii's eyes scanned the crowd and hoped to see even a glimpse of the familiar shade of bubblegum red, but was gravely disappointed.

Admittedly, she wasn't prepared for any type of confrontation with Marui; she could imagine herself clamming up and running away if he would opt to drill her for an explanation. Her concern over the tennis regular mainly stemmed from her desire to know how he was faring. She wanted to see with her own eyes that he was his usual bubbly self that attracted people, like a moth to a flame. And that by some off-chance, even after what happened, he would still seek her out in the crowd and talk to her like they were old friends.

Because they were still that, weren't they?

Friends.

She stepped into the hallway leading to her classroom, where several students were milling about. When she saw the mop of platinum hair in the crowd, her heartbeat noticeably sped up, as she would always immediately associate Niou's presence with Marui's. Niou was leaning comfortably against the wall beside their door. There was no sign of the red-head, however; instead, it was the bespectacled brunet Yagyuu, the boy who helped her out earlier that morning, who was conversing with her classmate.

When Niou noticed her near, he acknowledged her with an imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth, which Yagyuu surprisingly picked up, and had caused him to look over his shoulder. The brunet blinked, then regarded her with a smile.

"Your pallor has improved," Yagyuu noted, pressing his glasses against the bridge of his nose. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better. Thank you." She dipped her head slightly, then smiled. "Your first aid really helped, Yagyuu-san."

"I'm glad to hear that," Yagyuu tipped his head in the same manner and mirrored her soft smile.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Niou assessing her quietly. He was partially blocking the doorway, and as Kikuchii turned to his direction, she let her eyes briefly wander inside her classroom—or what view she could see from her angle, anyway—checking to see if there was a shade of red somewhere in the crowd.

"He's not here." There was a ghost of an amused smile tugging at Niou's lips. "He's down the hall in his classroom."

She flushed.

Yagyuu watched the exchange with polite interest, but did not say anything, to her relief.

"I see." She sounded bolder than she felt that she had to give herself a mental pat on the back.

Niou continued to look amused as he watched her with that piercing gaze of his, as though he had already mapped out all her possible reactions and was merely waiting for her to do exactly as he had predicted. She hated it when her classmate did that; it felt as if she was being subjected to an x-ray. With only one look, it was as if he could read all her thoughts and feelings, no matter how intent she was to put up walls in his presence.

The thought of Niou deconstructing all those barricades perturbed her more than it should.

At that moment, as Niou showed no signs of moving from his spot by the doorway, she was given the impression that he was purposely egging her to make a choice. She seemed to have two obvious options: either she tell him to move, and in turn, prolong this cold war with Marui, or wave the white flag and go to Marui herself.

Either she make the first move or run away, with her tail tucked under her.

" _He'll come around."_ Amane's voice echoed in her head.

"Excuse me, Niou-san," she whispered, tearing her eyes from Niou's and tightening her hold on the pair of milk bottles against her chest.

She ignored the stone at the pit of her stomach when she glimpsed a flash of what looked like disappointment in Niou's eyes as he stepped aside to let her pass.

. . .

She had her chance encounter with Marui by the shoe cubicles.

The dismissal bell had just rung, and she managed to evade Amane's invitation to go to a group date with other girls from her class ("My friend promised to bring hot guys from the university. You'll never know, you might pick up a thing or two from your date," Amane joked, wagging her perfectly plucked eyebrows) by saying she had to visit the local camera store to get her lens checked by a professional. To her surprise, Amane easily let her go. Kikuchii knew it was out of habit Amane extended an invitation to one of her escapades, and out of kindness that the blonde left her to wallow by herself for a while.

Thus, Kikuchii was left to her own devices come dismissal. When she entered the school's entryway, she immediately spotted the crown of bright red hair in the crowd.

Marui was leaning against one of the cubicles and nonchalantly chewing his gum as he conversed with his half-Brazilian doubles-partner, Jackal, who stood a few inches taller than him. They were presently engaged in a heated conversation, seemingly oblivious to all the movement and activity.

Her feet remained rooted on the linoleum tiles of the room as the stream of students all headed to either their club activities or straight home, sidestepping around her and ultimately drowning out her presence. The crowd was a good cover and presumable blocked her from his line of vision. She patiently waited for the pair to get a move on and leave. It was a thing of bad luck, she supposed, that her cubicle was right across Jackal's, but at the rate their conversation was going, they probably would not have noticed her if she trudged forward. Regardless, Kikuchii could not help but be anxious, anyway.

She knew the best way to put an end to her loop of worrisome thoughts was to walk right up to Marui and talk to him, but she really didn't think she could stand the confirmation of Marui being mad at her.

She even had to sport an injury because of her cowardice.

Before she could make up her mind about the matter, however, she felt her breath knocked out of her when she was suddenly knocked forward and lost her balance. She winced at the pain as her knees came in contact with the hard tiles of the floor.

"Oh my God! Are you alright?"

She looked up, and saw a girl stare down at her with warm brown eyes which vaguely reminded her of chocolate. Her glossed lips were pulled into a frown, and her eyebrows were furrowed with concern. A lock of shoulder-length hair, which was the same shade as her eyes, fell over her shoulder as she extended her arm towards her and helped her up.

It took Kikuchii a while to realize that she had yet to respond.

"I'm fine," she uttered, and offered the girl a small smile.

The brunette exhaled the breath she seemed to have been holding. "That's good," she remarked, smiling. Her white teeth were perfectly straight. Kikuchii thought she had a very pretty smile. Assured she was alright, the girl then bent over and began collecting the notebooks and pens that had spilled out of Kikuchii's bag and now strewn haphazardly all over the floor.

"I'm so sorry, I was in a hurry and wasn't looking where I was going." The brunette looked contrite as she handed her her belongings. "God, I can be such a klutz sometimes. I'm a disgrace to the squad."

"No, it's completely my fault," Kikuchii countered, wondering whether "squad" meant the girl was a member of the cheerleading squad as she slipped her paraphernalia inside her bag. "I shouldn't have been blocking the way in the first place."

The brunette grinned. "Okay, so maybe you're partially to blame." Kikuchii flushed and mumbled another apology, which only caused the brunette to laugh. "I was joking." She tapped the side of Kikuchii's arm in a friendly, assuring manner. "Either way, I almost plowed you down, for Christ's sake. I really am sorry."

After an awkward pause, the brunette finally excused herself. It shouldn't have come as a complete shock when the girl sauntered off to meet Marui, who perked up at her appearance and seemed to have been waiting for her arrival, all this time.

Kikuchii could only watch the pair (and Jackal) walk towards the exit, ignoring the heaviness in her gut when Marui burst into a fit of raucous laughter and the girl smiled brightly in response, as though making Marui laugh came as naturally as breathing to her.

.

.

.

It was one o'clock in the morning, but sleep evaded Kikuchii like the plague.

Her back was against the side of her bed, where her broken camera currently lay. She gazed up at the hundreds of photographs plastered on the white-washed wall across her room. Snaps of breathtaking fields of flowers, majestic temples, and snowy mountain tops filled most of the space, but her eyes were glued to a group of newly-developed photos she had just finished pinning—an impressive display of swords, oil paintings of dead historical figures, and a particular group photo, where a familiar mop of red hair came into view.

It was supposedly a class photo, but Marui had pigheadedly wedged himself between Niou and Sanada when the class was ordered to arrange themselves for the shoot. Niou's expression was indecipherable as Marui slung an arm around his shoulder. Sanada's signature frown was plastered on his face as he crossed his arms, possibly irate that Marui had strayed away from his own class all afternoon and was unabashedly crashing in in another class' photoshoot. On the other hand, Marui, who stood directly behind her, looked content, his smile more radiant than usual.

Right after that photo was taken, the red-head asked her if they could walk to the station together.

She said yes, and everything went downhill from there.

Mindlessly chewing her gum in contemplation, she wondered if the green apple flavor had always tasted this bitter.

After brushing her teeth and tucking her candy jar at the back of her closet, away from her mother's prying eyes, her gaze fell upon an organized poutpouri of things partially hidden by a pile of shirts—a stack of manga and CDs she had yet to return and the small boxes of bubblegum—before she finally shut her cabinet closed.

She's had too many packs recently.

As she lay in bed that night and stared at the crack on her lens in hopes of depressing herself to sleep, she decided she would have to try harder if she didn't want to lose him.

.

.

.

Her golden ticket came in the form of coupons from her father the next morning. They were coupons to the newly-opened cake shop a few blocks away from Rikkaidai—it was the very same shop her female classmates had talked about the previous day. Apparently, they were free tokens her father received from one of his more affluent and well-connected students. Her father had never been particularly fond of sweets, and thinking the unused tickets a waste, he had requested Nana to pass them onto her before he headed off to an early conference at the university. Nana had to ambush her by the receiving area that morning so that her mother wouldn't know about it.

As she slipped into the Rikkaidai entryway an hour before homeroom, Kikuchii stared at the pair of tickets in her hand, and wondered whether she would have the opportunity to ask Marui. She had yet to gather the courage to talk to him, anyway, so perhaps not bumping into him so soon was to her advantage.

When she turned the corner and entered the freshmen hallway, she visibly froze in her tracks upon seeing the very guy walking towards her general direction. Marui's gait was unhurried and his arms were folded behind his head as he conversed with Jackal; he had yet to notice her by the corner, but he was quickly sealing the distance between them.

She could feel heart hammering against her chest as she watched Marui's head slowly turn towards her.

His eyes widened a fraction, uncertainty flashing in his brown pools, before his expression hardened and his head snapped back towards Jackal, who remained oblivious to the tiny exchange.

Marui's steps were measured when he walked past her, as though he had never known her at all.

 **TBC**

. . .

 **A/N:** What is this brewing druhmuh! Anyways, I know it's been a year, and I do apologize for the wait. Hopefully, this chapter would make up for it. Do tell me what you think? If you had been in Marui's place, being friendzoned and all, how would you react? Next chapter would be up soon! Fingers crossed.


End file.
